


On Shaky Ground

by ThereIsNoTragedyInThat



Series: Spirits and Cocaine [25]
Category: Narcos (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Boys In Love, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Hurt Javier Peña, M/M, a little pick me up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-05
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-18 04:09:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29852361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThereIsNoTragedyInThat/pseuds/ThereIsNoTragedyInThat
Summary: There is only the crackle of the radio and Steve doesn't even know if Javier is alive.
Relationships: Steve Murphy/Javier Peña
Series: Spirits and Cocaine [25]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2100027
Comments: 4
Kudos: 27





	On Shaky Ground

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Protectiveness

Steve’s heart beat in his chest like a drum and bile burned his throat as fear, sharp and icy, turned his breath short. It was difficult to think clearly, to form words beyond the unintelligible swears that slipped from his lips with each crackle of the radio that doesn’t tell him if Javier is alive or dead. Trujillo was next to him, and the man’s usual quiet was no comfort, not with the way his knuckles turned white on the wheel, his gaze steady on the road as he expertly maneuvered the maze of Bogota’s streets.

They were too far away.

He hadn’t thought about it when Javi joined the patrol cars on a raid that should have been routine, hadn’t offered to join, thinking it’d be another sour tip and guilt was already settling over him like a shroud. The radio came to life with a loud crash of static, the voices shouting in Spanish and he didn’t need to know the language to understand the panic, to know that they were asking for back up, to know men were dying…that Javi could be-

Steve cut the thought off abruptly, hand slamming against the dashboard as a wave of helplessness crashed through him, frustration bubbling to the surface and mixing with the terror on the way out, a cry just making it past his lips. Trujillo didn’t look at him, didn’t even acknowledge him, and he knew he’d feel ashamed later, for not thinking of the others but in that moment, he just needed to know Javier was okay.

Despite himself, Steve’s mind wandered to that morning, to the feeling of waking up with Javier’s arms wrapped around, groaning when their alarm had gone off. Remembered him stealing his coffee and offering a sleepy middle finger to his protests, smiling the entire time. Felt his eyes sting as he thought of what Javi last said to him, grabbing his gun from his desk, “I’ll be back for a late lunch, don’t eat without me asshole.”

What was worse, as they careened around a corner, people jumping and scrambling out of the way, was the images building behind his eyes. These weren’t new; bodies strewn across cobblestone with holes ripped through them, trucks burning and windows shattered, glass glistening and blinding in the sun. Empty eyes and open mouths, like they’ve been frozen gasping for their last desperate breath. Except…this time it was Javi, bent and broken on the streets, twisted in the passenger seat of the cars, blood gushing and expression slack.

His breathing grew harsher, fluttering in his chest and disappearing in his throat like a noose had been tightened around his neck and for one terrifying moment, as they finally turned onto the street, into the chaos, he thought he couldn’t breathe at all. It was not like it had been with Carrillo, clearly not a pre-planned massacre yet the damage was obvious, devastating.

The Bloc vehicles were all turned sideways, like they were trying to keep themselves from hitting something or like they were trying to create a roadblock. Their sides were peppered with bullet holes and the windows were gone, cracked and empty sockets in the doors. They pulled to a stop and Steve was out of the vehicle, feet pounding against the cobblestones, gun in his hand, before he knew what he was doing.

Trujillo yelled something but Steve didn’t care about the possibility of hidden sicarios, his entire focus on finding one man and praying against hope that he was still alive, that he’d keep his promise and not abandoned him like this.

He slipped past the vehicles, eyes skating across bodies, glancing at faces and wincing every time a familiar one looked back at him, empty and lifeless. There were some though, a few that were alive and trying to move among the injured and there was only thirteen in this patrol and he started to count, mind buzzing as he listened to cries of pain, shouted orders, and the seconds passed where he couldn’t see Javi, where his stomach started to twist, a sob building deep in his chest…

“Steve?”

Swinging around, thumb nearly flipping the safety on his gun, he was met face to face with Javier. He nearly fell to his knees right there, relief storming his body violently as the fear that had twisted itself so tightly around his heart suddenly uncurled. Lips moving soundlessly, he stumbled forward, gun shoved in his holster, and his partner was there to catch him, dragging him close and Steve nearly wept, nearly had to live without the feeling of this man in his arms ever again.

One of his hands gripped the back of his neck, the other curled tightly in the fabric of Javier’s shirt as he buried his face in his partner’s shoulder. Steve could practically taste the acidic scent of the other man’s sweat, of his own fear, which mixed sickly with the metallic smell of blood clinging to him and that too, made it all the more real as he held him.

“Javi,” he finally managed to get his name out. “You bastard.” He chuckled, the sound a little wet, a little shaky but the sweetest sound ever heard, and Steve pulled away, needing to see his face, needing to know, “are you alright?”

Javier nodded and Steve looked at him for a long moment, took in the blood speckled across his face, staining his clothes and his hands, noted the way he was favoring his left side and when looked down, it was to find a splash of red at his ribs. The fear simmered back up, ready to shift to panic as he reached for him, only for Javier to snag his hand, “it’s alright, just a graze, already clotted on its own.”

Swallowing thickly, he pulled him close, let his forehead rest against his partner’s and tried to steady his voice, “don’t you ever do that to me again.”

“Didn’t plan on doing it the first time,” he replied and then quieter, so nobody but Steve could hear him. “I love you, I’m sorry.”

Blowing out a heavy sigh, Steve lifted a hand to wipe a few stray tears away, already knew that he’d need to hold Javier close that night, would need to feel him in his arms if he was going to get even a little bit of sleep, “I know, I know.”

They broke apart, their attention turning slowly to the men around them and Steve felt a switch flip in his mind, as the next crisis came upon them. It was alright though, so long as he knew Javier was okay and by his side, anything else could be dealt with together. 


End file.
